


Idiot

by EternalSongbird



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalSongbird/pseuds/EternalSongbird
Summary: God is dead, and Harrow and Gideon finally have a second with each other.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, Katie, I love you. This is for you.

It's mercifully dark, save for the dust clouds that were ground from the pulverised bones of fallen skeletons. It's a darkness Harrowhark Nonagesimus finds a familiar comfort in it's all-consuming cloak.

Her entire body quakes violently trying to stay upright; body exhausted, partially congealed blood crawling from every slice across her body, her ears, her nose, her mouth. The only thing she can hear is the sound of her heavy, ragged breathing and her own pathetic pulse hammering in her ears.

She wants to collapse and sleep for a myriad, but she can't seem to find it in her to do so, not in victory.

God is dead.

Fucking **_finally._ **

She shakily, sluggishly steps closer to God's corpse, each step it's own fight to remain standing, but she makes it to the body.

Looking down at this mangled form, Harrow feels...absolutely nothing. No remorse, no pity or sadness...nothing. That hollowness bubbles from below her diaphragm, ignites into airy chuckles as it rises to her lungs, and combusts into hysterical laughter as it escapes the back of her throat and out her mouth.

As her laughter dies down, so does the last of her strength and she feels herself fall.

She waits for the inevitable crack of her skull slamming onto the ground.

Curiously, it never comes.

No...she suddenly feels a solid yet soft mass gently catch her, keep her up, though mostly bearing Harrow's lithe form on them.

"Easy, Nonagesimus. You're not allowed to pass out; we're gonna get pissed celebrating our win."

"Ha… keep dreaming, Nav," Harrow bites back without an ounce of malice. "I'd never give you the satisfaction."

"I'd expect nothing less," Gideon smiles.

She carefully maneuvers Harrow so that Gideon has most of her adept's weight on her before they begin limping away from her asshole father's corpse.

Before them, a wasteland of death spires from the ground - bone constructs spiked up and out, impaled bodies of fallen Cohorts and Necromancers alike adorning some of the spikes or decorating the earth around them. It fucking reeks, but it's a stench Harrow and Gideon are familiar with. 

They hobble past the grotesque battlefield for a while until finally they returned to their home, though now, it doesn't feel like it all that much anymore. Still, they're there out of necessity and convenience more than anything.

The two of them enter the chapel - which smells only marginally better than outside - and make their way to the pews in the very front.

Gideon looks around quietly as she inches the two of them forward. She thought she'd feel... _something_ after all this time, but nothing surfaces. Not even a ghost of fondness for the echoes that remind her of when she scandalised Crux or disappointed Aiglamene, and she's unsure of how to feel about her apathy towards this place.

Then she glances down at her battleworn necromancer, and is consumed by the flood of feeling **_everything_ ** at once. A nearly inaudible whisper of a chuckle escapes her lips at the absurdity of the implications of that sentiment. So of course Harrow hears it.

"What's so funny, Griddle?"

"Nothing important."

As they reach the alter, Harrow stops them, and pushes off Gideon to weakly stand on her own. Gideon simply keeps an eye out for her should she fall again.

"I absolutely detest that this should all end where we began. In fact… I think I hate it here," Harrow says grimly. "I think I now understand your repulsion, Griddle."

"It only took you your entire life," Gideon sasses endearingly.

"Oh, shut up, you idiot. Still…" she trails off. Her gaze aimlessly travels around the area. "Where to go from here?"

Gideon sees Harrow's trembling worsening and is there before Harrow's strength gives way again, arms catching her beloved necromancer gently and pulls her flush against her front. Harrow's hand instinctively place themselves onto either side of Gideon's chest.

"Fallen for me, have you, Reverend Daughter? What _will_ the sister nuns say?!" she exclaims in fake shock.

" You're an idiot, Nav!" Harrow gives her a disgusted look.

"Yeah, but I'm _your_ idiot," Gideon says with the dopiest grin, smitten, and keeping her arms around the small of a reluctant Harrowhark's back.

And Harrow's heart melts. "Yeah. _My_ idiot," she sighs, dropping her forehead to Gideon's chest, to hide her wistful smile.

But Gideon knows it's there. She always does.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_It's a nice dream,_ Harrowhark thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is ENTIRELY open to self-interpretation; as I have my own thoughts on what I'd like it to mean, so I wanted y'all to have that kind of openness to it as well.
> 
> I have a tumblr: eternalsongbird...but fair warning it's a disaster amalgamation of stuff. You're welcome to scream at me about this or any fandom stuff we share in common there too!


End file.
